Half of the sentries, I knew, had been withdrawn to ride with their chief, but the number on guard mattered little; the silver key was an all-powerful talisman. I rode slowly, not wishing to tire the horses, to whose speed and strength we might later be indebted for our lives. I thought, too, it would serve my purpose better to reach the ravine in the dead of night, when the men would be sleepy and less likely to ask inconvenient questions.
I was stopped at the entrance to the pass, but not for long. The Indians who had seen me ride out with their chief had no suspicion of my object.
"Where is the chief?" asked the officer. "Have the Royalists got clear of the mountains?"
"No; they are still in the defiles. But I am in a hurry; I have come for the Spanish prisoner Montilla."
Fortunately this officer had not attended the trial of Don Felipe, and Sorillo was not the man to give reasons for his orders. My main difficulty would lie with the sentry at the door of the hut, but I did not think he would disobey the authority of the Silver Key.
In any case, boldness was my best policy; so I clattered up the ravine, stopping hardly a yard from the astonished sentry.
"Quick, man!" I cried, springing to the ground; "are you asleep? Open the door. I have come back for the prisoner. Is he still bound? Good. Can you tie him to this horse so that he cannot escape?"
"Yes, señor, if the chief wishes it. But, pardon me, señor, I have no orders."
"Orders!" cried I angrily; "what would you? I have but just left the chief; and is not this" (producing the silver key) "sufficient authority? Am I to tell the chief that he must come himself for the prisoner?"
"No, no, señor; but I am only a simple soldier. I must not open the door unless my officer bids me."